One Tuesday morning, after getting the Old Man to take his medication, I asked him whether he still had plenty of milk and bread.
“I’m out of bread.”
I could hardly believe that he had none. Ten days previously we had bought three large loaves (two of which went into the freezer) and some baps.
“Yesterday I thought I had a loaf.”
I got him to double-check in the kitchen and the dining-room. He confirmed that he could not find any bread.
Lately the Old Man has been resistant to the idea of asking Mrs CJ to do any shopping for him, but he agreed without further prompting that he would phone her.
Then when I phoned him that evening, he told me:
“You pulled a fast one on me with that bread.”
“I had a loaf last night. You must have taken it.”
“No I have not. From a hundred and fifty miles away?”
Fortunately, Mrs CJ had supplied the Old Man with some bread.
It is worrying when he thinks I have been acting against his interests, especially when I could not possibly have done what he accuses me of.
Then on the Friday evening of the same week, I asked him whether the missing loaf had ever turned up. His reply was:
“You took it, the night before.”
“Dad, I haven’t been at your house for a fortnight!”
[Original posting 29 October 2009]